A damned, paganistic way.
My slave died too, but a Christian’s death,
And God tells me all is well;
So while white heaven’s ahead for me,
The Pagan must writhe in hell.
“—Nathaniel Forge.
“Paris, Vt., Sept. 25, 1906.”
It should not be difficult to understand where Nathan derived material or satire for this poem. Neither should its reception be difficult to grasp in a prudish New England community.
“That boy’s mind is becoming positively foul!” cried Mrs. Caleb Gridley when she had found the paper that night and then dropped it as though it were hot. “The very idea of putting such a thing in type! What’s Mr. Hod thinking of? Moral excellence, indeed! I thank the Lord that pure-minded little Bernice-Theresa is out of town and away from it all. Her sweet morals are safeguarded from any such youthful depravity as that Forge boy is showing.”
Old Caleb secured the paper and read the verses in silence.